Obsidian
by Milliecake
Summary: A modern age murder leads Sydney and Nigel to the Yucatan jungle


Disclaimer: Don't own the show, don't own the characters, don't have any money, so don't bother suing.  
  
Author's Note: Takes place before Season Two's the French Connection, but contains no spoilers. This was written as just a bit of fun to while away the time.  
  
*****  
  
Circa 1000AD - the Yucatan Peninsular...  
  
A huge, harvest moon hung heavily over the jungle, as the Mayan priest gazed out over the forest below. From his vantage point at the peak of the great pyramid, his dark eyes caught sight of torchlight leading a trail through the trees, and even now he could hear the shouts and calls of those that came for him. They were followers of Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent, and they were fierce and loyal to their god, determined to destroy all who opposed his rule.  
  
Behind the priest, a lone acolyte huddled in the far corner of the temple, the bodies of those sacrificed earlier to the dark god of life and death lying untouched where they had been thrown. Blood spattered the walls and floor, and the priest himself, who paid it no heed. His dark god was not pleased by those who had been offered and the power promised by the deity to his loyal disciple would not come.  
  
The priest could see Quetzalacoatl's followers had reached the foot of the pyramid now and they began to ascend the steps, pointing upwards towards him.  
  
He spun and entered the temple, a dark, obsidian dagger held firmly in his grasp. Kneeling before the statue of his warrior god, the priest lifted the dagger, then plunged it deep into his own heart.  
  
The initiate crouched in the corner observed it all, then slunk over to his fallen master and withdrew the dagger.  
  
Yells and shouts from outside grew, but when those opposed to the dark god entered his unholy temple, all they found were the bodies of the priest and those he had slain. Of the acolyte and the dagger, there was no sign.  
  
*****  
  
Dark, ominous clouds were drawing in from the Northwest, gathering over the wide expanse that was the Gulf of Mexico and casting a deepening pall over the Yucatan jungle to the South. Across the vast peninsular, the humidity was steadily rising, the air thick and oppressive, near unbearable for the archaeologists who busied themselves around the ancient Mayan pyramid.  
  
Drawing a damp, grubby hand across her forehead, Maria Samuels crouched at the base of a limestone obelisk, pushing her glasses firmly against her nose as she ran a slender finger across the Mayan hieroglyphs carved upon it. Centuries of harsh, jungle weather would have taken their toll upon the writings, many of them worn away to little more than indecipherable smudges. But Maria had the distinct impression the hieroglyphs had been deliberately destroyed. Much of the main temple at the top of the pyramid had born the scars of the same vandalism.   
  
"Maria." She glanced up at the sound of her name, a tall, bearded man approaching. "I think the help are getting nervous again," her co-worker warned, quietly.  
  
Samuels looked across to where their small, dark guides were shifting warily, pointing towards the impending storm and speaking worriedly in their native tongue.  
  
"What is it now, Mallory?" she demanded, wearily.  
  
"Dunno," Michael Mallory replied, with a shrug. "But you know they've been spooked ever since we found this place."  
  
Maria sighed and removed her glasses. "They say this place is cursed, that the temple was erected to the dark god, Tezcatlipoca."  
  
"Smoking Mirror," Mallory translated, thoughtfully. Then lowered his voice. "They might be onto something. Ever since Marco's death..."  
  
Grabbing him by one elbow, Maria steered the older man towards the steps of the pyramid where no one could overhear them. "Marco's death was not caused by some...local superstition," she reminded him, forcefully.  
  
"Then you think it was rebels." It wasn't really a question.  
  
"I don't know," she replied, frustrated. "The police say it was revolutionaries. But I'm not convinced. Mallory...listen. I've decided to call in some help on this one."  
  
"Montrose won't like it," Mallory protested.  
  
"Nathaniel Montrose can go to hell, for all I care," she shot back, hotly. She didn't need any reminders of their suave benefactor.  
  
"He's funding this entire dig Maria. We at least owe him an explanation."  
  
Samuels ran her hands through her short, dark hair. "I'll inform him," she said, at last. "After we get the help we need here."  
  
Mallory looked on as she approached the skittish locals. There was a minute of heated debate between the young archaeologist and their guides, then Samuels threw her hands down in disgust, seemingly resigned to the inevitable.  
  
Mallory caught up with her as she crossed the site, glancing over her shoulder as their guides began to gather up their meagre belongings.  
  
"So they're going," he said, sounding less than happy at the idea of being abandoned in the middle of the jungle.  
  
"I couldn't stop them," she replied. "But they've promised to deliver our research to my friend."  
  
"Maria," Mallory began, curiously. "Who are you calling here? This could well be the find of the century, so it must be someone you trust a great deal."  
  
"It is," she assured him, smiling faintly. "Her name is Sydney Fox."  
  
*****  
  
The petite blonde sitting at the desk glanced up as footsteps echoed down the corridor. Claudia smiled as her boss entered the outer office, a bundle of files and letters under one arm, the other holding a brown leather briefcase.  
  
"Good morning," Claudia greeted her chirpily, moving around the desk to follow the dark-haired woman into her office.  
  
"Morning Claudia," Sydney Fox echoed, absently, dumping her baggage onto her desk. "Any...?" She was cut off as Claudia thrust a brown package at her. "Mail," she finished, wryly, taking the proffered parcel. "Am I this predictable?"  
  
"You? Never." The voice belonged to her young teaching assistant, Nigel Bailey. He entered her office, curiously eyeing the package. "What's that?"  
  
"Let's find out, shall we?" Sydney reached over for her letter opener and attacked the parcel, eagerly ripping away the string bindings and cheap paper without regard for the mess she was creating. She pulled out a bundle of various documents, her gaze instant alighting on what appeared to be a hand-written note. Absently passing the rest of the package's contents to Nigel, she sat down at her desk and began to read.  
  
Nigel carefully flicked through the other papers, noting their stained appearance, no doubt some type of water damage. His eyes caught on one paragraph and fixed there, for a moment unable to vocalise the revelations contained in the writings. "Sydney, do you realise what this is?" he demanded, in growing excitement.  
  
"The research into a very old, newly discovered Mayan pyramid," his boss replied, coolly, holding up the note. "It's from Maria Samuels."   
  
"Who?" Claudia asked, a frown marring her pixie-like features.  
  
"Yes, I remember her," Nigel replied, thoughtfully, still leafing through the documents. "The Mayan culture was her field, wasn't it?"  
  
"As far as I know, it still is," Sydney confirmed.  
  
"Wasn't she given a grant," Nigel continued, "by some foundation to study down in Mexico?"  
  
"That was over a year ago. Last I heard, she was out in the Yucatan jungle, searching for a fabled lost temple."  
  
"And it looks like she found it," Nigel finished.  
  
"The pyramid wasn't the only thing she found," Sydney said, grimly. "In her note, she says one of her co-workers was murdered at the site. The police are naming rebels, but Maria thinks otherwise. She's asking for my help."  
  
"Really?" Nigel tore himself away from the papers long enough to register the determined look in his employer's eyes. "Oh no. Sydney, please, not Mexico. The food does funny things to my digestion..."  
  
"Claudia," Sydney cut in, ignoring his protests. Her face was already alight with the possibility of adventure. "Get us on the first flight to Cancun."  
  
*****  
  
The jungle creatures of the night were less vocal than their daylight cousins. While the howler monkeys slept and the wild parrots roosted, jaguars prowled their territories, scenting for prey.  
  
Running footsteps broke the eerie silence, harsh, sobbing gasps loud in the preternatural stillness. Maria Samuels cast a desperate, pleading glance over one shoulder, tears running streaks down her dirt-smudged face. Her foot snagged on an overgrown root and she sprawled face first in the moist forest floor. Leaves stuck to her clothes as she jerked upright, fear urging her to keep moving.  
  
An apparition emerged from the dark jungle, striding purposefully towards her even as her feet scrabbled for purchase in the slippery undergrowth.  
  
Abruptly finding her feet, Maria tore off into the trees. The giant shadow of Tezcatlipoca's pyramid loomed over her as she felt her way through the darkness, her hands finding its cold, slimy surface.  
  
The site's generator had long ago fallen silent, broken or sabotaged, and the floodlights that had illuminated the area were dark. Maria's feet found the stairs leading to the top of the pyramid and she began to climb, instinct overcoming rational thought. She tripped once, bruising knees and arms against the unforgiving stone, and half-stumbled, half-crawled into the temple at the very top of the giant ziggurat.  
  
Inside, the young woman melted into the darkness, backing away from the open doorway and desperately trying to calm her gasps for air. The back of her knees touched the sacrificial altar, a long, unremarkable slab of stone and she collapsed against it, moving to place the stone between herself and the night outside.  
  
A moment passed, then another, but she couldn't permit herself to relax. It wouldn't be long before he found her and then she would share the same fate as Marco. Her thoughts turned to the other archaeologists, wondering if they had heard her cries, and she cursed herself for a fool. She had left her tent silently, for fear of waking them, and not even Montrose's watchdogs had seen her leave the camp.  
  
A thought suddenly occurred to her and she fumbled in her pocket for her penlight, desperately smacking it against her palm when the bulb refused to switch on. She was rewarded with a thin trickle of light, and she turned, shining it across the hieroglyphics and pictograms scrawled on the wall behind the altar.  
  
Marco had been the one to decipher the writings, and she recalled his excitement when he explained that there was a hidden doorway somewhere in the temple.  
  
She reached up and felt, rather than saw, the raised imprints on the wall. Between the writings, various upraised dots and bars lined its otherwise smooth surface. The code had alternately fascinated and frustrated her team, but Marco had assured her he could break it, that he would open the secrets of the pyramid. It was written in the stars, he had told her with a cheeky grin.  
  
Of course! Gripping the penlight between her teeth, Maria feverishly ran both hands over the raised symbols, ignoring the ancient hieroglyphics, her quick mind conjuring up desperately needed answers.  
  
Footsteps on the stairs made her swing round, almost losing her light. She turned back to the wall and pressed her thumb against one of the dots. Instantly, she was rewarded with a loud rumbling that began deep in the bowels of the ancient structure and passed up through her already shaky legs.  
  
Behind her, the altar began to grind across the floor. As it moved, Maria could see a secret tunnel emerging from beneath.  
  
Outside, her stalker's footsteps faltered and she knew it was now or never. She darted across to the hidden opening and began to descend the steep, rough-hewn steps, her balance uncertain in the poor light.  
  
A presence above made her look up in fright. A hand reached down and clawed across her hair, barely missing. She cried out and lost her precarious footing, rolling painfully down the stone steps into the tunnel below.  
  
Seconds later, whatever timer had been set by the ancient Mayans clicked into place. The stone altar above began to slide shut, slowly cutting off the weak, fading light. Lying on the floor with her eyes tightly closed, Maria waited until it had ground unequivocally back into place.  
  
With difficulty, she pushed herself upwards, the stuttering light of her discarded torch casting strange shadows across the dank walls and ceiling of the tunnel. The pyramid she had searched for, for three long, hard months, had now become a tomb.  
  
It was then the light from her torch died and plunged her into darkness.  
  
*****  
  
The battered taxi swerved across the road, heading into the oncoming traffic for one heart-stopping moment, before steering back into the right lane.  
  
In the rear seat, Nigel clutched at his backpack, his hands white as he glanced back at the slow-moving lorry they had just overtaken.  
  
In the front passenger seat, Sydney appeared unconcerned, one arm resting casually over the rolled down window, while dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Her young assistant actually believed she was sleeping!  
  
Closing his open mouth with an audible snap, Nigel returned his attention to the research diary that Maria Samuels had sent along with her notes. Seven month after arriving in Mexico, the young woman had been approached by a man named Nathaniel Montrose, an enigmatic archaeologist who had offered to fund an expedition into the Yucatan jungle. As he read, Nigel instantly recognised the passion Samuels held for her profession. She sounded so much like Sydney, always eager for adventure, never one to turn back at the first signs of danger.  
  
The expedition had moved along as planned. Montrose seemed to have a limitless supply of money to throw at it. If something broke down, he had a new one brought in. If one of the team needed something, no matter how trivial, they got it. All the latest gear and technical equipment were made available, though it led Samuels to comment in one passage 'although the modern-age marvels make our lives easier, I can't help but feel they are taking the adventure out of the whole thing.'  
  
The car took a sudden turn off the main road, breaking Nigel's concentration. They swerved through a gap hacked into the jungle, the road, if one could call it that, little more than a bumpy dirt track.  
  
Turning his attention back to the diary, Nigel read on. The day they had finally found the temple was one of celebration for the archaeologists. All the long days of pushing through humid, unrelenting jungle had paid off. Though their guides had muttered something about an accursed place, the small group had paid little or no attention to their ramblings.  
  
But even as the Montrose expedition settled down into a life of fully exposing their find, things began to go wrong. Two guides ran away in the middle of the night, taking with them the laptop containing all their data and their only GPS phone. Stranded, with no way of obtaining supplies for at least a week, the researchers began taking hand-written notes.  
  
But the worst was yet to come. While the rest of the team slept, their youngest, Marco, had been savagely murdered. They found him dead the next morning at the base of the pyramid, the wounds on his chest pointing to a brutal stabbing.  
  
Swallowing slightly at the gruesome thought, Nigel closed the diary. Up ahead, a wooden building came into view and he reached forward to touch Sydney's shoulder.  
  
"Sydney," he said, quietly. "I think we're there."  
  
*****  
  
Sydney took off her sunglasses and stretched her long legs, the heat already plastering her dark hair to her forehead. Wiping away a trickle of sweat, she watched as Nigel paid their driver, before gathering up her bag and heading into the hotel. Inside, the air was cooler, a large fan swirling lazily above her head as she strode across the foyer to the desk, Nigel following less enthusiastically. The décor of the hotel left a lot to be desired. The walls were peeling and mouldy, while the threadbare carpet had obviously been part of a feast for the rodents that no doubt would appear when it grew dark.  
  
Sydney pressed the buzzer on the counter and they waited patiently as an elderly, dark-skinned woman moved slowly out of her office and came to meet them.  
  
While her assistant took care of their sleeping arrangements, Sydney took a moment to go over her plans. The Montrose site was a week's trek, maybe more into the jungle. If they took the jeep Claudia had promised would be waiting for them on their arrival at the hotel, they could cover that distance in two days, three at the most. The heavy equipment Montrose had imposed on Samuels meant their guides had to clear a large swath through the jungle, big enough for a sturdy four-wheel drive to pass through.  
  
"Ah, Ms Fox, I presume."  
  
Startled out of her thoughts, Sydney turned at the voice. The man who had spoken was dressed in an immaculate suit and looked, what some might term, devastatingly handsome. In one hand he held a half-empty glass, the other he held out to Sydney.  
  
"Nathaniel Montrose," he introduced himself, and Sydney took his hand, feeling his palm cool and dry, her own uncomfortably damp.  
  
"Sydney, I've got the rooms," she heard Nigel say, uncertainty at the newcomer written into his tone.  
  
"And Mr Bailey," Montrose greeted the young man. "I'm glad you're both here at last."  
  
"How exactly did you know we were coming, Mr Montrose?" Nigel asked, giving Sydney a puzzled look.  
  
"Why, my people contacted me as soon as you approached my offices in the city," Montrose replied, easily.  
  
"They said you were unavailable," Sydney said, recalling the secretaries, who had unashamedly flirted with Nigel while refusing disclose their employer's whereabouts.  
  
"You must forgive them, Ms Fox. They did not know who you were. However, I do. Your reputation precedes you. We could have done with your expertise two weeks ago when that poor boy lost his life." Montrose shook his head sadly. "It was a truly terrible event."  
  
"What exactly do you know about the death, Mr Montrose?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Please, call me Nathaniel," he insisted, graciously. "I only know what the police have told me. Revolutionaries, searching for Mayan gold to fund their cause. Marco was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
  
"Why would they stab him?" Nigel asked.  
  
"A gunshot would have awoken the entire camp," Montrose pointed out, simply.  
  
"Nathaniel," Sydney began, thoughtfully. "Did Maria Samuels ever mention finding an obsidian dagger?"  
  
"A dagger?" Montrose echoed, seemingly surprised. "Not that I recall. But then, Ms Samuels and I were not exactly on good terms when the expedition began."  
  
"Really?" Nigel was instantly curious. In her diary, Samuels had written of her first meeting with Montrose and they had seemed to hit it off straight away. She had made no mention of any disagreements between them, but after the start of the expedition, she had not written a single word about her employer.  
  
"A clash of...personalities," Montrose replied, waving his hand to indicate it was no big matter. "But surely, if Ms Samuels sent you her research, the discovery of this dagger would have been recorded in there."  
  
"She might not have looked for it," Sydney pressed. "It's an old legend."  
  
Montrose raised an elegant eyebrow, urging her to elaborate.  
  
"It is said," she began, "that the priest of Tezcatlipoca would cut out the heart of a sacrificial victim using the dagger. In return the god would grant him...unimaginable powers."  
  
Montrose laughed, shaking his head. "An interesting myth, Ms Fox. Knowing Maria the way I did, she would have put no stock in such a tale."  
  
That was true. But there was one final question Sydney wanted to put to him. "Have you had any contact with the site since Marco's death?"  
  
"None," he replied. "However, I can assure you they are not alone out there. Once I received the report of the murder, I hired guards to keep my archaeologists safe. These are highly trained men, used to dealing with rebels."  
  
Sydney nodded thoughtfully. It appeared as though Montrose had thought of everything. Yet there was something about the whole affair that continued to bother her. And there was still the question of Tezcatlipoca's dagger to contend with.  
  
She thanked Montrose for his time.  
  
"No trouble at all," he returned, with a handsome smile. "If you have any more questions, I'll be in the bar," he told her smoothly, and raised his glass to her.  
  
*****  
  
"Sydney, what do you think of Montrose?" Nigel, sitting on his employer's bed, watched as she bustled about the little room.  
  
"I'm not sure yet," she answered, truthfully. While Nathaniel was certainly charming, and handsome, and obviously well funded, she added, there was something about him she couldn't quite bring herself to trust.  
  
"And what's this about a legend concerning Tezcatlipoca's dagger?" her TA persisted.  
  
With a sigh, Sydney moved over to her bag and began to unpack her things. "When I was a child, a friend of my father's once told it to me. He spoke of how the priest of Tezcatlipoca would stab the victim, cut out his heart, or sometimes slit the throat..."  
  
"He told you this when you were a child?!" Nigel interrupted, horrified.  
  
"He was illustrating how the Mayan culture worshipped blood," she explained, patiently. "Sacrifices were often in the form of slaves, or prisoners of war."  
  
"Human sacrifices," Nigel echoed.  
  
"Exactly. Now if Maria has found a temple to the dark god, it's quite possible the dagger's there."  
  
"But you don't really believe the legend," Nigel said, then tentatively, "Do you?"  
  
"You remember how Marco died?" she asked, taking her hairbrush out of her backpack  
  
"How could I forget...?"  
  
"Well what if someone has already found the dagger..." she began, meaningfully, starting to attack to the tangles in her hair.  
  
"And wants to see if the legend is true," Nigel finished, catching on. He turned a wide-eyed gaze to Sydney. "But that means..."  
  
"Someone on that expedition is the killer. I know."  
  
"Montrose hired soldiers," he reminded her. "They should be guarding the archaeologists as we speak."  
  
Sydney paused, one hand loosely holding her hairbrush as she regarded her assistant in the mirror. "Nigel, let me ask you this. Why would Montrose hire someone like Maria for this kind of fieldwork? She might be an expert on Mayan culture, but there are dozens of archaeologists down here who have greater experience. But she's young and beautiful..."  
  
Slowly, realisation dawned on the young man. "You think Montrose intends to sacrifice Maria to Tezcatlipoca? To test the legend?"  
  
"Maybe not Montrose. I get the feeling something happened between the two of them."  
  
"A clash of personalities," Nigel quoted the other man. "It was strange because she seemed to like him when they first met. She wrote that she found him very charming."  
  
Sydney suppressed a small smile at his wondering innocence. Montrose's body language had spoken of something more between him and his young employee, something that would no doubt disqualify Maria from the requirements of a sacrificial victim. Not wanting to upset Nigel's delicate English sensibilities though, she didn't elaborate.  
  
"Get some sleep," she suggested at last. "We start out first thing."  
  
*****  
  
Get some sleep, Sydney had told him. A barbaric murder, bloody sacrifices, a temple erected to an evil god, how was someone supposed to sleep after all that?  
  
Pushing away the covers, Nigel finally gave up on the elusive urge to rest and reached for the bedside cabinet, grabbing the bug repellent. Even the mosquitoes, circling like vultures, were out for a blood sacrifice tonight. He lay for while, allowing his mind to drift onto more pleasant thoughts, and at last, sleep came.  
  
There were voices, chanting in an ancient tongue, a language he couldn't decipher. As the crescendo of incantations grew, he struggled to open his eyes.  
  
Grinning skull faces loomed over him. Nigel opened his mouth to yell for Sydney, yet no sound emerged. He struggled against hands that pinned him to the bed, the masks of his captors obscuring their true identities, their dark, obsidian eyes peering out from behind their macabre visages.  
  
"Nigel!"  
  
A clawed hand lifted high into the air, a black knife in its grasp, hovering for an instant, before plunging downwards.  
  
Nigel gasped and shot bolt upright, struggling against the firm hands that dug into his arms.  
  
"Nigel!" the concerned voice said again. "Wake up."  
  
The young man paused, taking a deep breath and opened his eyes to bright sunlight streaming through the shutters. Sydney was sitting on the bed, shaking him.  
  
"I'm awake," he told her, pulling away, rubbing a weary hand across his face, "I'm awake."  
  
She gave him a closer look, then decided he was ok. "Some dream," she commented, rising.  
  
"More like a nightmare," he replied, attempting to untangle himself from the twisted bed sheets.  
  
"Get packed," she told him. "I'll go find our transport."  
  
*****  
  
Nigel nodded politely to the woman at the desk as he crossed the foyer and left the hotel. Outside, the air was cool, but growing warmer by the minute, promising another hot, humid day. Nigel yawned and stretched, then crossed over to the side building where he could hear a growing number of curses and angry words.  
  
"Damn it!" Sydney swore, her head under the bonnet of the jeep.  
  
Nigel watched as his boss pulled out a length of cable and tossed it to the floor. "Problem?" he queried, wandering over to take a look.  
  
Sydney looked up, a grease smudge across one cheek. "You could say that. Someone's sabotaged our ride," she told him, jerking a thumb at the offending engine.  
  
None of the parts looked even vaguely familiar to Nigel, to whom vehicular maintenance meant a trip to the nearest garage.  
  
"The carburettor's shot," she informed him. "We won't be heading out today..."  
  
She was cut off by a loud horn. They both turned to see Nathaniel Montrose sitting in a jeep, jauntily leaning one arm on the rolled down window.  
  
"Car trouble?" he enquired politely.  
  
Gone was the suit and tie affair. He was wearing a rugged shirt, the sleeves rolled up, while dark sunglasses covered his eyes.  
  
Sydney shared a knowing look with Nigel, the unspoken insinuation passing between them.  
  
"I'm heading out to the site myself," Montrose continued, glancing at the road ahead. "You're welcome to join me."  
  
Nigel deferred to Sydney, who practically steamed in fury. But her concern for the archaeologists won out over pride. She slammed the jeep's bonnet down, making Nigel jump, and snatched up her backpack. "Come on, Nigel," she said, grudgingly and headed for Montrose's vehicle.  
  
*****  
  
The day passed slowly. When Sydney took over the wheel, she left Nigel and Montrose to exchange pleasantries. Montrose for his part seemed curious to Nigel's adventures with Sydney and Nigel never tired of sharing his exploits with someone as interested as Montrose.  
  
In the evening, they settled around a small fire, Sydney's ire at having to ride with Montrose seemingly forgotten.  
  
While Nigel unrolled his sleeping bag, Montrose moved closer to Sydney. Firelight played across her exotic features and she appeared lost in thought.  
  
"We should keep a watch tonight," she said, suddenly, fully aware of his scrutiny.  
  
Montrose nodded. "I agree. There are dangerous animals in the jungle." He reached behind him and brought out a long-barrelled hunting rifle.  
  
Sydney eyed him warily for a moment, but he grinned and patted the weapon. "Never leave home without it," he joked. "I'm always prepared."  
  
"You should have been a boy-scout," she said, dryly.  
  
"Oh, but I was," he replied, with an insouciant smile.  
  
Sydney didn't comment but fed another stick into the flames, watching the sparks that flew up like tiny fireflies.  
  
"I will take the first watch," Montrose offered. He gestured to where Nigel was already sound asleep in his sleeping bag. "And perhaps the second if the boy is too tired."  
  
"He had a rough night." Sydney stood and stretched, moving to unpack her own roll. "Wake me at two. I'll take the second."  
  
Montrose nodded and rose, wandering around their little camp, his gun held loosely in his hands. Sydney had no doubt he was more than capable with the weapon.  
  
As she put her head down, she could hear Nigel snoring softly. In the sleeping bag, her hand clasped around a knife. For the jungle animals, she told herself, watching Montrose. He was nothing more than a silent shadow leaning against the jeep, his rifle slung confidently over one shoulder.  
  
High above, the sky was filled with a thousand glittering stars and the night wore on.  
  
*****  
  
Nigel lazily opened his eyes, feeling something cold and wet slithering over his out flung arm. His eyes widened as he saw a long centipede attempting to make its way up the sleeve of his t-shirt. He yelped and jumped out of his sleeping bag, shaking the creature off him in panic.  
  
"Good morning."  
  
The voice belonged to Sydney. She was perched on the bonnet of the jeep, looking impossible bright and refreshed for such a time of the morning. She gave him an amused smile, and he blushed, sitting down to pull on his boots.  
  
I hate the jungle, he thought, casting around for his second boot, pausing to check it for more insects.  
  
Nathaniel Montrose entered their little clearing, pausing to hand Nigel a cup of something that smelled deliciously like coffee. Nigel's opinion of the man went up two notches.  
  
"We should reach the end of the road by this evening," Montrose was telling Sydney, as they hunched over a map. "From this ravine, we'll have to make our own way through the jungle to the site."  
  
"How far?" Sydney asked, all business.  
  
"Two kilometres," he answered. "The brush is thick there. We may have to cut our own path through."  
  
"That won't be a problem," Sydney announced and hopped off the bonnet.  
  
*****  
  
A second night out in the jungle had done little to temper Sydney's enthusiasm. As dawn arose on the second day, they had already crossed the ravine and plunged into the rainforest, heading due South for the archaeological site.  
  
While Nigel followed along behind with his compass, Montrose and Sydney hacked at overgrown bushes and trailing vines, clearing a path through the relentless jungle.  
  
Montrose held up his machete and paused, wiping sweat from his eyes. Sydney also paused for breath, her skin glistening with perspiration.  
  
"I think...it's thinning out," she said, breathlessly, reaching for the water bottle at her hip.  
  
Montrose removed his hat and ran a hand through his sweat-darkened hair. "The site is not far now. But if you are tired, Ms Fox, perhaps Mr Bailey could take over."  
  
They turned to regard Sydney's trailing assistant. Nigel was desperately brushing at his hair, attempting to remove the bug he was sure was trying to take up home there. Preoccupied with his miniature attacker, he tripped and dropped the compass into a muddy puddle. As he bent to retrieve it, an object fell out of his backpack, and he was scrabbling for that next.  
  
"Perhaps not," Montrose corrected, watching the display with a frown.  
  
Nigel glanced up to see them observing him and grinned sheepishly, wiping mud off the compass.  
  
"Let's keep going," Sydney suggested, turning back to her task.  
  
Montrose drew alongside her, lowering his voice. "Ms Fox, I do not wish to make any presumptions. But surely it would have been better for Mr Bailey to have remained with the jeep."  
  
"Nigel can hold his own," she said, assuredly, hacking at a particularly stubborn creeper.  
  
"You and I, we are experienced archaeologists, people of the world. It is obvious he is not. I would hate to see anything happen to him..."  
  
Sydney paused, and turned sharply to Montrose, reaching for some kind of threat in that statement. The man still carried his rifle, strapped to his back, but he made no move for it. "Nothing will happen to him," she told him, firmly. Not while she was around.  
  
Still, the speculative look Montrose cast Nigel did little to relieve her fears. She would have to keep a close watch. On both of them.  
  
*****  
  
Gary Philips sat hunched outside his tent, trying the radio once more. His reward was crackling static and he threw the handset down in disgust.  
  
"It's no use," he informed his companions. "The radio's shot."  
  
"The generator too," Michael Mallory added, wiping a greasy hand on a cloth. "I can't fix it."  
  
Next to him, Amanda Philips threw her husband a worrying look. "There's still no sign of Maria," she said, tentatively. "Nathaniel's men are out searching but..."  
  
"A lot of good they did us," their engineer, Christopher Corrigan, spat hotly. The gruff, eldest member of their group drew out a packet of cigarettes and offered it to each of the others before shoving one into his mouth.  
  
"None of us heard anything," Philips said, trying to calm the group down.  
  
"I slept soundly," Mallory put in. "Maria shouldn't have left the camp in the first place..."  
  
"Just like Marco shouldn't have," Corrigan pointed out, speaking around his cigarette. He patted himself down for a light, then cursed.  
  
Philips leaned forward and offered him a match.  
  
"I still think we should leave," Mallory was saying. "We could all be in danger."  
  
"Cheers..." Corrigan started to thank Philips, when the match slipped through the younger man's fingers and fell to the muddy ground. "What the...?"  
  
"Mr Montrose!" Gary Philip's face lit up with relief and he jumped to his feet as the rest of their group swung round.  
  
Nathaniel Montrose stepped into the camp, trailing two strangers. They looked tired and worn, but all were a welcome sight to the nerve-wracked archaeologists.  
  
"Gary Philips," Montrose said, stepping forward, and two men clasped hands. "Let me introduce you to Sydney Fox and Nigel Bailey."  
  
There was a round of uncertain pleasantries between the three newcomers and the highly-strung archaeologists, before Philips gave them the bad news.  
  
"Maria Samuels disappeared two nights ago," he informed them, gravely, noting the instant concern on Sydney Fox's face. "We haven't been able to find her."  
  
"My men?" Montrose asked, glancing around the pitifully muddied campground.  
  
"They're all out in the jungle looking for her," Philips replied.  
  
"Didn't anyone hear anything?" Sydney demanded. "See anything, the night she went missing?"  
  
"Nothing. We all slept soundly throughout the night. But in the morning, we found her tent was empty..." He left the sentence hanging and glanced at his employer. "Mr Montrose, I've talked it over with my wife." He reached out and took Amanda's hand. "We want to leave."  
  
Sydney drew Nigel to one side as the archaeologists began discussions with their employer.  
  
"Syd, do you think Maria Samuels is...?" Nigel began, awkwardly.  
  
"No." Sydney cut off that train of thought firmly. "Not until we find a body."  
  
"But if Montrose's people are searching the jungle and haven't found any sign of her, then where could she be?"  
  
Sydney glanced at the huddled archaeologists, then called over to them. "Which way is the pyramid?"  
  
Philips exchanged an uncertain look with his boss, before pointing. "It's only a little way through the trees," he said. "But we checked there."  
  
"You went inside?" Sydney asked.  
  
"The temple? Yes," Philips said. "But it's empty." His wife nudged him meaningfully, and Philips reluctantly relented. "Before he died, Marco was convinced there was a secret passage running down into the pyramid. He believed it could be found beneath the sacrificial altar, but none of us could move it..."  
  
"The only way passed that slab," Corrigan pronounced, loudly, "is with dynamite. That thing's solid."  
  
"Well maybe Maria found a way in," Sydney said, refusing to give up. "Come on Nigel."  
  
The two headed into the trees, while the archaeologists watched.  
  
"I'll go with them," Mallory offered, rising.  
  
Montrose patted him on one shoulder, a fatherly gesture, then hefted his rifle, checking the chamber. "The rest of you, stay here."  
  
*****  
  
The great ziggurat jutted out of the surrounding forest, its aged, blackened stone at odds with its green, leafy environment. Shading her eyes against a bright sun, Sydney stood with her back to the temple, the jungle stretching out to unimaginable distances before her. Nigel hurried up the long steps to join her, less enamoured with the view than what lay inside the ancient building.  
  
Together, they entered the temple, both drawn by professional curiosity to the hieroglyphs written on the far wall.  
  
"This is incredible," Nigel enthused, pulling out his glasses for a closer look.  
  
Sydney reluctantly tore her attention from the writings, crouching to check the stone altar. "Nigel, look at this," she said, a moment later.  
  
On the dusty floor at the base of the altar was half a footprint, the other half-hidden beneath the stone slab.  
  
"So someone did find a secret entrance," Nigel said, wonderingly.  
  
"Yes, but who?" Sydney returned to the wall, running her hands over the raised dots and bars that interspersed the Mayan hieroglyphs. "The trigger must be here."  
  
"It makes no sense," Michael Mallory called over to them as he entered the temple. Joining them at the wall, he should his head. "These," he began, pointing at the dots and bars, "must represent the Mayan numerical system."  
  
"If I remember correctly," Nigel said, "the dot would equal one, and the bar...five?"  
  
Mallory nodded. "But there's no shell symbol for zero."  
  
Sydney stepped back, a hand on her chin as she regarded the puzzle before her. Nigel recognised that look all too well. Mountains would move before Sydney gave up on this.  
  
Mallory shook his head tiredly and took a seat on the altar. "Ever since we got here, we've been trying to work it out," he said. "Marco was the only one who came close. He was something of a mathematician. Like the Mayan themselves."  
  
"They were also great astronomers," Montrose called in, over one shoulder. He was standing outside the temple scanning the forest below. His rifle was slung over one shoulder and he paid little attention to their problem.  
  
Sydney's face suddenly lit up in realisation. "That's it!" she said, excitedly, then turned to her assistant. "Nigel, forget the hieroglyphs. Just look at the dots. What do they represent?"  
  
"Uh...?" He shook his head, shrugging helplessly.  
  
"They were great astronomers," Sydney meaningfully repeated Montrose's words.  
  
"A map of the stars?" Nigel suggested and Sydney reached forward, touching the bumps.  
  
"This must represent Earth," she said, touching the centre stone.  
  
"That's the trigger?" Mallory queried, fascinated.  
  
"I don't think so." Her slender fingers moved to a slightly smaller dot.  
  
"The moon, of course," Nigel murmured.  
  
"Here goes," Sydney said, and pressed the dot. It sank into the stone and there came a loud rumbling, a shifting of centuries old gears and pulleys.  
  
"Sydney, you've done it!" Nigel began, excitedly.  
  
Suddenly, the stone altar behind them began to shift, revealing a hidden entrance. Mallory leapt up and backed away in amazement, but Sydney moved confidently forward, taking out her torch and shining it down into the passage below. "Maria!" she called, hesitantly, then listened. There was no reply. "Maria Samuels! It's Sydney Fox!"  
  
There was still no answer and Sydney glanced at Nigel before stepping cautiously down into the pitch-black tunnel. Nigel made to follow, but Montrose moved passed him and took up position at Sydney's back, his rifle ready in his hands.  
  
Nigel looked back at Michael Mallory, who shrugged and the two men moved down into the tunnel behind Montrose. Inside, the air was thick and stale, barely breathable.  
  
"Maria!" Sydney was calling again, ducking under a half-collapsed rock.  
  
An abrupt grinding made all four swing round. The stone altar guarding the doorway was moving back into place.  
  
"Sydney!" Nigel called desperately, unsure what to do.  
  
Nathaniel Montrose shoved between the two men and ran up the steps. But it was too late. The slab of stone closed the gap and the entire pyramid seemed to groan, an ominous rumbling deep in its bowels.  
  
Nigel closed his eyes and held his breath, waiting for the ancient structure to tumble down around his ears. Nothing happened and he dared to creak open one eye. Montrose nodded to himself as he regarded the impenetrable barrier that barred their way out.  
  
"The mechanism to open it will be somewhere in the pyramid below," Sydney called to them.  
  
She began moving downwards once more, allowing her torch to guide the way. Chambers and vaults led off the tunnel, but she allowed herself one sweep with her light to check for Maria, before moving on. Whatever secrets were buried beneath Tezcatlipoca's temple, they would have to wait until the young woman was found. The tunnel began to level out and soon they found themselves in a labyrinth of underground corridors. Roots jutted out from decayed ceilings, twisted and gnarled by the years, while water ran tiny rivers down the walls, pooling at the explorers' feet.  
  
Sydney marked their passage, aware of Montrose doing the same. Up ahead, she caught a sudden glimmer of flickering light and moved purposefully towards it, her hopes lifting.  
  
"Someone's here," Montrose warned, quietly, at her side, his rifle held ever ready.  
  
The chamber they came to was large, but surprisingly dry. Ancient torches flickered along the walls, the firelight casting dancing shadows that played across the faces of the explorers.  
  
"Someone took the time to light these," Sydney commented, moving deeper into the room. What she saw made even the hardened relic hunter pause. She heard Montrose draw breath at her side and Nigel's soft 'oh my god'.  
  
"Not our God," Sydney replied, the shock quickly wearing off.  
  
The flickering torches bathed the room in blood red, splashing across the second sacrificial altar and the giant skull that rested beyond it.  
  
*****  
  
Maria Samuels crouched like a wild animal in the darkness. Her eyes were wide with fear and she struggled to contain her tremulous whimpers. All around her, she could feel the evil, hear the whispers that spoke of agony and brutal, savage death.  
  
She didn't know how long she had spent in that darkness, terrified that he would find a way in, that he could even now be stalking the corridors, hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce.  
  
"Maria!"  
  
The voice made her jump, and she pressed both hands to her mouth, silencing the cry that threatened to emerge.  
  
"It's Sydney Fox!"  
  
No, it wasn't true. It couldn't be!  
  
"Maria, can you hear me?"  
  
It was a lie. The pyramid was trying to trick her, to get her to come out of hiding.  
  
Cautious footsteps made Maria hunch back into the shadows, wishing the walls would swallow her. In the corridor beyond, she saw shapes, figures moving passed her, and in the torchlight, saw the face of a familiar friend.  
  
It was Sydney! Hope rose in Maria's chest and she rose shakily to her feet. She took a stumbling step forward, then froze, her heart rising into her throat.  
  
He was with them. The mad creature who wanted her death. Shaking her head no, she retreated back into the shadows and sank to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest. Rocking back and forth, she pushed her hands to her ears and waited for silence.  
  
*****  
  
Sydney took a torch from the wall, and moved closer to the immense skull. As she drew nearer, she could see that hundreds of smaller skulls made up the large, macabre construct, some belonging to the various animals that inhabited the Yucatan, but many were clearly human.  
  
"This is incredible," Montrose breathed, moving forward around the altar. As Nigel looked on, the older man reached up and placed a hand into one of the skull's eyeless sockets.  
  
Nigel gave Sydney a puzzled glance, but she had her back to Montrose and didn't appear to notice. Montrose drew back his hand, his fist filled with nothing but dust. He checked the second eye socket, but came up empty handed once again. For an instant, he looked frighteningly angry, but he abruptly calmed.  
  
"Michael," he called, without turning. "Bring me a torch."  
  
There was no answer. Nigel glanced back to where he had last seen Mallory, surprised to find the other man gone.  
  
"Michael!" Montrose snapped, a second time.  
  
"He's not here," Nigel answered.  
  
Now Montrose did turn and Sydney glanced up too. "Where did he go?" she asked, frowning.  
  
"I don't know, he was behind us a minute ago..."  
  
"Damn it, I should have known," Montrose said, quietly, lifting his rifle. He pushed passed Nigel, heading into the corridor.  
  
"Montrose, stop!" Sydney called, futilely. Then to her assistant, "Nigel, wait here," before heading after Montrose.  
  
"Fine," Nigel said to himself. He glanced at the ghoulish object of Mayan worship and suppressed a shiver. It seemed to be smiling at him.  
  
*****  
  
Maria was still huddled against the wall when she heard the footsteps drawing closer. The man paused in the doorway, his torch shining painfully into her eyes. She felt the whimpers building in her chest and pressed closer to the stone as he knelt before her.  
  
Reaching out, the man touched her streaked face, a hideously gentle gesture.  
  
"Maria," he said, in a chiding tone, "you shouldn't have run from me. Surely you know you couldn't run from me."  
  
She felt his hand move upwards to stroke her hair, while the other placed the black knife against her cheek. Its cold bite made her shudder in horror.  
  
"Time to die," she heard him say, softly.  
  
*****  
  
Nigel swung round as he heard the footfalls. "Sydney, I..." he began, then stumbled backwards in surprise as something was flung to the ground at his feet.  
  
His eyes widened as he took in the form of a small, dark-haired woman and he was kneeling at her side in an instant, recognising the terrified features of the missing Maria Samuels. His attention was drawn upwards as someone approached.  
  
"What...?" Nigel began, confused.  
  
He was cut off as Michael Mallory viciously punched him across the face, sending him sprawling to the floor. The bearded archaeologist strode across the chamber and, with a savage yank, pulled one of the flickering torches downwards.  
  
Through his dazed senses, Nigel heard the familiar groan of gears, the shifting of a great weight, and a slab of stone began to move across the chamber's entrance, blocking any escape.  
  
"What are you doing?" Nigel demanded, hoarsely, struggling to rise.  
  
He fell silent as Mallory drew out a black knife, an obsidian dagger, and came forward, a cold look in his eyes.  
  
*****  
  
"Nathaniel, wait!" Sydney shouted, hurrying to catch up to the man. "Montrose!"  
  
She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. His face held a look of such fury that she stepped back, instinctively preparing to defend herself. But she wasn't the object of Montrose's wrath.  
  
"He did it!" Montrose snapped, angrily. "He killed Marco."  
  
"Who...Mallory?" Sydney demanded.  
  
Montrose gave her a frank look. "Yes."  
  
"He's the killer?" Sydney felt a sudden stab of intuition. "Then he already has the knife."  
  
"And all he needs now is a sacrifice," Montrose finished the thought, quietly.  
  
"But there's no one here..." Sydney began, then looked up in shock, "Nigel!" She spun away from Montrose, heading back to the skull chamber and praying she wasn't too late.  
  
*****  
  
Michael Mallory's features were ferocious as he reached down and grabbed Maria Samuels, ignoring her pitiful struggles and pleas for mercy. As he passed Nigel, he kicked him in the stomach, making the young TA curl up in blinding pain.  
  
There came a pounding on the stone slab, a muffled thumping that told Nigel Sydney was back, but trapped outside in the corridor.  
  
"You're too late!" Mallory yelled, gleefully, forcing Samuels down onto the altar and pinning her there with one heavy hand. "Tezcatlipoca's powers will be mine!"  
  
Nigel closed his eyes as he heard the woman's pleas descend into heart wrenching fear. Crawling, he managed to drag himself upright, casting a look towards the altar. Standing before the ancient skull, Mallory backhanded his intended sacrifice, silencing her.  
  
There was no way he could stop Mallory himself, Nigel thought desperately. The man's strength was inhuman. He needed Sydney.  
  
Mallory gazed one last time upon his victim. Touching Maria's soft hair, he favoured the semi-conscious woman with one last smile, before raising the knife.  
  
"Tezcatlipoca!" he cried. "Accept this blood sacrifice. Grant me your power!"  
  
With a final, desperate lunge, Nigel moved. Not for Mallory, but for the torch that triggered the door. He pushed it firmly back into place and the stone slab across the entrance began to slide open.  
  
Mallory spun, caught off-guard. "No!" he shouted in fury, even as Montrose levelled his rifle and fired.  
  
The shot was loud and seemed to echo around every corridor, every chamber in the giant pyramid.  
  
Mallory was frozen for a long moment, the knife still clenched in one raised fist. Then slowly, he crumpled to his knees, a red stain appearing across his shirt. He raised pleading eyes to Montrose, then toppled to one side and was still.  
  
Montrose lowered the rifle as Sydney shoved passed him, heading for Maria. She touched the young woman's shoulder.  
  
"Maria," she said, gently. "It's Sydney Fox. You're safe."  
  
Maria's eyes darted disbelieving across Sydney's face, before she sat up and threw herself into the other woman's arms, sobbing hysterically. Sydney stroked Maria's hair and looked at Nigel over the young woman's shoulder.  
  
"I'm alright," he reassured her, a little breathlessly, at her enquiring look. He glanced down at Mallory's body. A thin trickle of blood was pooling on the floor, bathing the dark, obsidian knife that had been the cause of two deaths, and countless more centuries before.  
  
Nigel looked towards the giant skull, the embodiment of Tezcatlipoca and it seemed to grin. The god of the night sky had received his blood sacrifice after all.  
  
*****  
  
Sydney led the way up out of the pyramid, Maria Samuels, tired, dehydrated and half-blinded by the bright sunlight, leaning against her.  
  
She had been correct, the trigger to opening the way out had been hidden behind the underground altar, a place only a priest of Tezcatlipoca would have known of.  
  
The other archaeologists had gathered around the steps, drawn to the pyramid out of curiosity. They hugged their colleague, grateful to find her alive and reacted with shock and sorrow when told of Michael Mallory's treachery.  
  
"I'm guessing he found out Marco had deciphered the code," Sydney explained, when asked. "They both went into the pyramid during the night to take a look around. Mallory found the knife, and knowing what it was, decided to test the theory. Marco probably guessed what he was intending to do and tried to get away."  
  
"But Michael caught up to him and killed him," Montrose added.  
  
"Then he tried to kill me," Maria said, from where she sat on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. "He told me he'd found something at the temple, that he needed me to look at it and that I couldn't tell the others. Then he tried to stab me with that knife..." She broke off, unable to continue and Amanda Philips put a comforting arm around the young woman.  
  
"But you hid in the pyramid," Sydney reminded her, gently. "And the only other person who figured out how to get in was Marco."  
  
"And you, Ms Fox," Gary Philips pointed out.  
  
"I guess the legend isn't true then," Nigel said, thoughtfully. "After murdering Marco, Mallory didn't receive any...extraordinary powers after all."  
  
"Perhaps Marco didn't satisfy Tezcatlipoca's requirements," Montrose replied.  
  
"Where is the knife now?" Corrigan interrupted, gruffly. "I'd like to see the thing that's caused us all this trouble."  
  
Sydney glanced at her companions, then reached into her backpack and brought out a cloth-wrapped object. Inside lay the obsidian dagger, still stained with Michael Mallory's blood.  
  
"Mexico's national museum will be glad to have that," Philips commented.  
  
"I will see that it is delivered," Montrose said, holding out his hand for the knife, but Sydney shook her head, placing it carefully back into her pack.  
  
"It's a murder weapon now," she explained. "The police will need it for the investigation."  
  
"But surely there is no investigation," Montrose pressed.  
  
"Two people are dead," she reminded him. "I'm sure when the authorities finally release the dagger, they'll pass it on to the museum."  
  
For a moment Montrose appeared ready to argue, then slowly, he lowered his hand.  
  
Out in the distance, there came an ominous rumble of thunder that made the group turn.  
  
"Hmmph." Chris Corrigan folded his arms and chewed thoughtfully on his unlit cigarette. "Looks like there's another storm coming."  
  
*****  
  
Sitting on the edge of Sydney's bed, Nigel allowed himself to slump backwards, luxuriating in the feel of cool sheets and a soft mattress, a far cry from the hard ground and humid nights spent in the jungle.  
  
"Don't get too comfy," Sydney warned, as she worked through a bunch of papers. A witness statement and confirmation of the dagger's authenticity were among the various documents she had to complete before leaving Cancun.  
  
"I know, I know," Nigel said, his reply muffled. "We leave first thing in the morning. Still, it would be nice to stay a few more days. All that sun and sea..."  
  
"I thought you hated the food."  
  
"I can adapt," he retorted. "Besides, there's a great Chinese around the corner." He lazily put his hands behind his head. "I'm just relieved it's all over."  
  
"Me too," Sydney agreed. "Maria Samuels is in the hospital, getting the best care. But the important thing is that she's alive. Thanks to you."  
  
Now Nigel did sit up at the unexpected praise. "Well, I wouldn't really say I saved her, per se..." he began, modestly.  
  
"You did good, Nigel." Sydney stretched, rolling her shoulders. That long, hot shower she had promised herself was calling. "How are the ribs?"  
  
"Sore. But I'll live."  
  
"Good." Rising, Sydney headed over to the bathroom, distractedly kicking the door closed behind her.  
  
After a minute, Nigel heard the muffled pounding of water start up and he rose, stifling a yawn. "I'm serious about that holiday," he called to his employer.  
  
"Huh?" was her response, muted by the door between them.  
  
"Never mind!" he returned. He wandered over to the dresser and idly glanced at his reflection, before looking down to pick at the spray of flowers on the dresser. "I mean," he began, quietly, "who could possibly want a nice, quiet holiday after days spent out in the jungle, being eaten by mosquitoes, and stung by insects, then nearly ending up entombed in a pyramid? Oh no, not me."  
  
He straightened, glancing back into the mirror and his eyes widened in surprise. Strange, impassive faces stared at him over his shoulder.  
  
"Uh...," Nigel began, startled.  
  
In that moment of uncertainty, they pounced, and Nigel felt strong hands grab at him, one slapping a cloth across his mouth to prevent him from shouting out a warning to Sydney. The cloth had a strange smell, and his swirling mind registered some disabling chemical moments before it overcame his senses and sent him spinning into darkness.  
  
*****  
  
Sydney stood under the steaming shower, feeling the water begin to wash away the aches and strains of the trip. If she were a more indulgent woman, she'd spend the night in the shower if she could.  
  
A noise made her look up, her senses suddenly alert. Leaving the water running, she stepped out of the shower, grabbing her towel. So help him, if it was Nigel having another bad dream...  
  
The door crashed inwards and she jumped back in surprise, muscles tensing in alarm. A man shouldered his way into the small bathroom, his eyes boring into hers.  
  
"Who are you?" she demanded, fiercely. "What do you want?"  
  
He didn't answer, simply reached large hands out for her. Sydney mentally shrugged. He couldn't say she hadn't tried.  
  
Lashing out with a bare foot, she struck him in the stomach, and he lost his footing, stumbling backwards against the sink. Grabbing another towel, she tossed it over his head, before running passed him into the hotel room.  
  
"Nigel!" she called, skidding to a stop.  
  
She saw no sign of her assistant among the two other men who waited for her. They moved purposefully towards her and she cast about for a weapon. Grabbing a table lamp, she threw it at the first. It smashed against his head and he went down, stunned for the moment.  
  
The second moved in, striking her across the face and drawing from her a sharp cry. Sydney blocked a second punch, almost losing her towel in the process. She kneed him in the groin, then awkwardly tucked her towel back round to protect her modesty as he collapsed writhing to the floor.  
  
Sensing another presence, she ducked as the man from the bathroom came at her from behind and tried to grab her. Moving around the hotel room table, she picked up a chair and brought it down across her would-be assailant's back. He barely flinched and continued to move towards her.  
  
"Great," Sydney muttered, scooting round the table, keeping it between the two of them. She grabbed both corners of the table and shoved it at him. He simply picked it up and tossed it angrily to one side with a crash.  
  
Frantically keeping some distance between the two of them, she backed out onto the balcony and allowed him to come for her. As he rushed unthinkingly towards her, Sydney desperately side-stepped at the last instant. Grabbing the large man, she used his own momentum to heft him over the railing. He went with a short-lived yell and sprawled in the well-tended bushes and shrubs outside the hotel two floors below.  
  
Moving back into the room, Sydney saw the first of the two men had recovered. His eyes met hers and he whipped out a flick-blade knife, lashing out at her. Sydney warily dodged the first slash and almost lost her towel once more. Her opponent grinned nastily, waving the knife hypnotically before her. He struck out a second time, and she jumped back. With her hands holding onto her towel, she kicked out, catching her attacker under the chin, then followed up with a heavy roundhouse that knocked him down. This time, he didn't get up.  
  
Sydney flicked her long, damp hair back out of her eyes and primly closed her towel about her. Looking around at the devastation that had been her hotel room, she winced. There was no sign of Nigel, nothing to indicate where he might have been taken.  
  
Who would do this? she wondered, furiously. And what would they want with her and Nigel?  
  
A groan made her spin around. The man she had kneed was slowly recovering from his debilitating injury. In seconds, Sydney was kneeling at his side. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, she hauled him up close to her face and shook him. He moaned in pain, but it elicited little sympathy from the fierce-eyed woman who held him.  
  
"Where's Nigel?" she demanded, near to shouting. "Who paid you to do this?" When he stared at her without speaking, she shook him, "Answer me!"  
  
"He'll kill me," the man said, frightened now.  
  
"And I won't?" she asked, her voice low and hard.  
  
The man swallowed and glanced around for support. Finding himself the only one of his associates still conscious, he looked into Sydney's wild features. "It was Nathaniel Montrose," he confessed, at last. He grasped at her hands, all his bravado gone now that he was alone. "Please...don't hurt me..."  
  
Sydney shoved him back to the floor in disgust. Montrose. She should have known not to trust that man. But what would he want with Nigel?  
  
*****  
  
In a deep, underground chamber beneath his city offices, Nathaniel Montrose stood before the large statue of the Mayan god, Tezcatlipoca. In one hand, the deity held an obsidian spear, pointing outwards, its point lethally sharp. In the other, he held a crafted shield, its inner surface a polished mirror, allowing the dark god insight into the happenings of the world around him.  
  
It had cost Montrose much to have the statue crafted and he smiled at his own conceit. For years he had sought out remnants of Tezcatlipoca's reign of power, for years he had looked for the dagger. Power unimaginable the woman, Sydney Fox had foretold. And all that power was finally to be his.  
  
Footsteps approaching the chamber made him turn. Two of his loyal acolytes entered, their faces covered by jade skull masks. Between them, they held a prisoner.  
  
"Mr Bailey. At last." Montrose was inordinately pleased and he reached down for the obsidian dagger. The black knife of Tezcatlipoca seemed to suck in what little light was scattered around the room, but reflected none of it back. "And Ms Fox?" Montrose raised a questioning eyebrow to his disciples.  
  
One of the men guarding Nigel paused, then shook his head, his face unreadable behind his mask. Montrose stared balefully at the men and the air in the room seemed to drop. Then he shrugged.  
  
"Ah well," he said, lightly. "We can deal with her when I've finished here."  
  
He hefted the knife and moved to face Nigel, who so far had not spoken. Montrose raised his empty hand and snapped his fingers in front of the young man's face. There was still no response, not even a flicker of recognition as Nigel stared glassily into the some hazy distance.  
  
"Excellent." Montrose whirled back to the statue and addressed an unaware, unmoving Nigel over one shoulder. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Mr Bailey. And for the drugs. Even the ancient Mayan used the peyote plant to subdue their victims. But perhaps you already know that?"  
  
There was no response, but Montrose, becoming increasingly manic, appeared not to notice. "It was good of you and your employer, Ms Fox, to recover the dagger for me. Although I had no small difficulty in releasing it from police forensics. But no matter." He brought the knife upwards, staring at his own reflection in its smooth, volcanic surface. "I have waited for this night for years." He grinned and glanced amusedly at Nigel. "Rest assured, Mr Bailey, it's going to be a real heart-stopper."  
  
*****  
  
The door was kicked open, crashing into the wall and shattering the glass panels. Sydney strode into the building's foyer, hands bunched into fists. The security guard quickly moved from behind his desk to confront her.  
  
"Where's your boss?" she demanded.  
  
He drew a baton, thumping it against one palm and smiled.  
  
"We can do this the easy way, or the hard w...," she began, but never got to finish.  
  
He swung at her head and she ducked, grabbing his over-extended arm and breaking it over one knee. He cried out and dropped the baton, and Sydney followed up with a short elbow blow to the back of his head, dropping him unconscious to the floor.  
  
The relic hunter strode purposefully into the building even as an alarm began to wail. Glancing around a corner, she ducked back as a young guard hurried towards her position. Waiting until the last moment, she put her foot out and he tripped, sprawling across the floor. Sydney was on him in a moment, pushing him down when he struggled to rise. She drew out his handcuffs and quickly snapped them onto his wrists.  
  
"Two down," she said to herself, and pushed to her feet.  
  
*****  
  
Montrose looked up as the faint sounds of the alarm were heard deep in the chamber. He snapped his fingers and the two acolytes rushed to his side.  
  
"It is Sydney Fox," he told them. "Bring her to me. But," he lifted a threatening finger, "do her no harm."  
  
They bowed and left the chamber, their booted feet thundering up distant stairs. Left alone with Nigel, Montrose moved over to the sacrificial altar and knelt. Reaching over, he lifted a magnificently jewelled skull mask.  
  
"I had once hoped," he began, "that it was to be Maria Samuels who delivered my power to me. She was so young, so beautiful. How could Tezcatlipoca refuse her? But as we drew closer, I realised there was a greed in her, a vice that demanded fortune and fame. There was little she wouldn't do for either. It made her...unworthy. But then I met Sydney Fox. And you, Mr Bailey." Montrose carefully placed the skull mask over his face and rose, turning to Nigel. "Tezcatlipoca demands a worthy sacrifice. Ms Fox, with the spirit of a true warrior, would please him greatly. But I will keep her for myself and instead, will offer him you."  
  
*****  
  
Sydney looked up from the unconscious form of security guard she had knocked out. Two of Montrose's masked henchmen were approaching. Fanning out, they circled her predatorily, waiting for the right moment to strike.  
  
The experienced relic hunter brought up her fists, shifting her weight in preparation for the attack. The first struck out and she ducked, spinning and punching out. He fell back, clutching his mask, while Sydney clutched her hand, the hard mask bruising her knuckles.  
  
The second acolyte took it as an opportunity and grabbed her from behind, locking his arms around her chest. Sydney grunted as the breath was crushed from her. While she struggled futilely against his hold, the first man returned, lunging at her. She brought her legs up and kicked him back.  
  
With a snap, she brought her head backwards, hitting her captor in the face. He released her and stumbled back, grabbing at his mask, while Sydney grimaced, holding the back of her now aching head.  
  
"This is getting old," she said.  
  
Both men lunged for her at the same moment and she jumped back, grasping the back of their heads and slamming them together. Mask met mask in a sickening clang and both of Montrose's henchmen collapsed bonelessly to the floor.  
  
Sydney looked down at the robed bodies and a thoughtful look blossomed on her face.  
  
*****  
  
Montrose turned away from Tezcatlipoca's statue and moved to stand before the altar, speaking the ancient incantations that hadn't been given voice in over a millennia. His hands dipped into a golden bowl and then withdrew, dripping with animal blood. Lifting his fingers, he drew red streaks down each arm, the words coming faster to his lips, his own blood pounding in his ears.  
  
Before Montrose, lying on the unyielding stone, Nigel didn't move or speak, or even attempt to save himself from what was to come. Whatever drug Montrose had given him to make him pliant showed no signs of wearing off.  
  
The invocations to Tezcatlipoca abruptly ended and Montrose lifted the dagger, throwing back his head with an animalistic cry.  
  
A noise made the madman pause and he looked to the chamber's entrance, seeking out the disturbance. A lone acolyte cautiously entered the room and Montrose forced down his fury at the interruption.  
  
"Attend to me!" Montrose commanded and the man came forward, his skull mask empty and unreadable. "Where is the woman, Sydney Fox?"  
  
Instead of answering, the acolyte reached up and removed the mask, allowing dark, unbound hair to tumble down around her shoulders.  
  
"I'm right here," Sydney replied.  
  
There was a moment of utter silence, then, lightning-quick, Montrose brought the dagger downwards, stabbing for Nigel's heart.  
  
The knife was halted inches from its target and Montrose looked up in surprise. Sydney had grabbed his hand, preventing the sacrifice.  
  
"So be it!" Montrose spat and slashed at the woman he had hoped to spare.  
  
Sydney sprang back and moved around the altar, keeping it between her and Montrose. "Nigel," she called, to the unmoving man.  
  
He didn't respond, and then Sydney had other concerns as Montrose came for her. Dodging the blows he aimed at her, she backed away until she came up against the statue of Tezcatlipoca. Desperately, she reached out and grabbed the carved god's shield, holding it out against Montrose's attacks.  
  
The man was in a frenzy now, a blood lust that wouldn't be satiated until she was dead. Like Mallory before him, Montrose was possessed of an inhuman strength, as if something was feeding him the power he craved.  
  
Sydney ducked under the statue's out-flung spear and backed away from Montrose's relentless onslaught. Her foot snagged on something and she tumbled backwards, losing the shield. Montrose, wild-eyed and rabid loomed over her, the obsidian dagger held between two clenched fists.  
  
With a yell, he brought the knife plunging downwards, even as Sydney kicked out. The priest of Tezcatlipoca stumbled backwards, then abruptly stiffened.  
  
For a moment, Sydney, frozen where she had sprawled, couldn't see why. Then she saw the jagged spear point erupting from Montrose's chest.  
  
Montrose coughed, seemingly surprised at the turn of events. Then he lifted knowing eyes to hers, even as the life drained out of him. Using the last of his strength, Montrose smiled, a terrible, twisted grin, before his features went slack. The hand clutching the dagger fell limp and the knife tumbled to the floor.  
  
Sydney took a deep, gulping breath, then recovered from her shock and climbed to her feet.  
  
Hurrying to Nigel's side, she lightly slapped his face. "Nigel! Nigel, wake up!"  
  
The glassy look had left his face and his eyes rolled towards her. "Sydney?" he croaked, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief.  
  
"Yeah, it's me," she replied, helping him into a sitting position.  
  
While she gave him a relieved hug, Nigel glanced about the chamber, dazed and bewildered. "But how...? I mean, where...?" Then his gaze fell upon Montrose's body, impaled on the spear of Tezcatlipoca and he stuttered into silence.  
  
"I'll explain later," Sydney promised. "Think you can walk?"  
  
*****  
  
Shading her eyes against the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles, Sydney finished her verbal report to the attending police officer and made her way over to her young assistant.  
  
Wrapped in a blanket, Nigel perched on the back step of an ambulance, a steaming cup of something warm clasped untouched between his hands.  
  
"How are you doing?" Sydney asked, quietly.  
  
"Fine," he replied, with a short-lived smile. "So...what happens now?"  
  
"Well, the dagger is being returned to the police while they continue their investigation. And I've contacted a friend at the national museum. When the dagger is finally handed over, it won't be allowed to fall into the wrong hands."  
  
"I guess that's something," Nigel replied. "I was just thinking..." He paused.  
  
"What?" Sydney pressed.  
  
"Well," he began, "I know I said it would be nice to stay a while, but...can we please go home now, Syd?"  
  
Despite herself, Sydney laughed and as she smiled, she felt some of the horrors of the past night lift. "I hear France is nice this time of year," she commented, idly, moving away.  
  
He raised a suspicious eyebrow and hopped off the back of the ambulance to follow. "France? Really?"  
  
"How does a nice, quiet lecture tour sound to you?"  
  
He grinned and gestured at their surroundings. "Compared to this? Like a holiday."  
  
  
THE END 


End file.
